


Someday (Maybe)

by HoopyFrood



Series: Possibilities [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Affection, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: Years down the line, Edward offers an olive branch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Может, однажды](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498857) by [Lazurit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazurit/pseuds/Lazurit)



> This is based around the idea that Isabella was sent by someone (Court of Owls, Hugo Strange, etc) purely to get to Ed and, eventually, Oswald yet their relationship _still_ never quite recovered from Oswald killing her. Enjoy.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Oswald says to the two security guards tied up at his feet, their hands and legs bound, mouths gagged. “You’re not the only incompetent guards in Gotham. Think of this as a learning curve. Or a bonding experience. I’ve heard there are even support groups and everything now. You’ll get to meet new people! Isn’t that nice?” 

He mockingly pats them both on the head and straightens up to oversee progress. It isn’t a particularly large jewellers, relatively off the beaten track as far as Gotham’s main city centre goes, but it does have a high percentage of what those in the business call big ticket items, hence two guards for a space that only really needs one if any at all. This particular heist had been in the works for a while and was running as smoothly as Oswald could ever hope for. It was just a shame it fell on what Oswald often dubs a Bad Pain Day. It’s not just his leg that burns deeply with pain, but his hips and back and, fuck, everything. He can’t wait to get home and soak the aches away in a hot bath. The very thought is enough to warm him.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sing-songs from behind him. Oswald grits his teeth and pivots round on one foot, quickly sucking down the whimper of pain that threatens to spill out at the sudden movement. This is the last thing he needs today.

“What are you doing here?”

“A certain little cat _may_ have told me that a certain little bird was planning a raid today,” Ed answers, spinning his ridiculous cane around like a baton. “And you know me, I just can’t resist having a look,” he finishes with a sweeping bow and drinks in the organised chaos with interest, pushing his bowler hat up at the front with the oversized question mark that sits proudly at the top of his cane so he can observe fully. Oswald will be having words with Selina. Angry, angry words.

“Well you’ve had your look,” Oswald replies with feigned disinterest, his long-held feelings for Ed at odds with the pain that has his body coiled tightly like a spring. He feels unbalanced and oddly exposed. He thinks he’s managed to successfully put up his well ravaged walls until he sees Ed’s eyes flick down to where Oswald’s clutching desperately at his own cane and his whole demeanour immediately shifts. From loose limbed and amused to what Oswald hates himself for hoping is concern.

“You’re in pain,” he states.

“I’m always in pain,” Oswald snaps back, warmth spreading across his cheeks, embarrassed he let his mask of composure slip even for a few seconds.

Ed moves closer, long legs carrying him to Oswald in two strides. “Let me help,” he says, voice lacking its usual dramatic flair.

“You lost that right over a decade ago!” Oswald roars. The soft background noise of his men chatting amongst themselves dies down into a deafening silence. Ed dropping in on him during a job wasn’t a new thing and most of his men know that despite their seemingly mutual animosity, there is also a grudging respect bubbling just under the surface. They used to be friends once upon a time and the affection there never truly, fully disappeared. Oswald’s henchmen usually look forward to their run-ins, the clever banter flung between the two always good for team morale. And it didn’t hurt that it left their often highly strung boss on cloud nine for hours after. Agreeable and almost pleasant, even. Today didn’t appear to be their lucky day.

“Everybody out!” he screeches at the top of his lungs. Why does he continue to let himself be humiliated by this man? Oh, right, he thinks bitterly.

“But, boss, we haven’t gone through everything yet,” a particularly brave lackey pipes up, his hand raised stupidly in the air as if waiting to answer a question in class.

“I don’t care, just grab what you can and go. I’m feeling generous today so the _Riddler_ here,” he spits his name and Ed visibly flinches, “can have our scraps.”

A chorus of yes boss’s chime out and lackey’s laden down with various sized bulging bags start to stream past them both, each one mindful to keep their distance from the two villains as they stare each other down. It’s Ed that breaks the silence once they’re finally, blessedly alone.

“Look, Oswald--” he begins.

“Penguin,” he sneers in response.

“Oswald,” Ed insists again, firmer this time. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Oswald looks at him in disbelief. “You’re joking right?”

“I usually leave the joking to another one of our more, shall we say, _volatile_ colleagues.”

Oswald can’t help the light chuckle that tickles its way up his throat and Ed lights up, as if seeing Oswald laugh has made his entire week. Encouraged, Ed steps even closer. Oswald can feel his body heat radiating from him like a furnace and has to repress a shudder at the proximity, silently berating himself to _keep your hands by your sides, Oswald_.

Ed scans Oswald’s face, eyes darting over every inch of pale skin. “I may only be given, not taken or bought. What the sinner desires, but the saint does not.” He murmurs deliciously low.

Oswald swallows thickly before managing a scoff. “If you’re suggesting I should beg for your forgiveness I think you’ll find I’ve been trying to do just that for the past ten years,” he growls, fondness replaced by bitterness once again. He straightens his back and starts to move, steps uneven with pain but purposeful nonetheless. Despite what Barbara says, he’s _not_ a masochist for this man.

Ed grabs him by the shoulder. “I know and I’m not,” he answers and takes a deep breath. “I’m begging for yours.”

Oswald frowns and turns back to him. “I don’t understand.”

“You hurt me, Oswald. Deeply.” 

How many times have they had this exact same conversation? Hundreds, possibly thousands. Oswald’s lost count.

“For fuck’s sake, Ed, she was sent by the--” 

“I know, but you went behind my back,” Edward interrupts, tone still irritatingly calm. “And that’s what still stings.”

Oswald has no answer for that because it’s true, he did go behind Ed's back, but there isn’t a single part of him that regrets ever doing so. He never could. Not when Ed is still here, brilliantly and beautifully alive in front of him.

“Christ, I’m doing this all wrong," he groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I never thanked you,” Ed continues eventually. “For saving me. It’s about time I did.”

Oswald has to look away. “You saved me first,” he mumbles, knowing Ed will think he means that night in the forest after being shot and not all the times he graced him with a smile, a hug, or a shoulder to cry on. Not all the times he was the sole reason Oswald got up every morning determined to make Gotham everything he knew it could be.

“I would still do anything for you, Oswald. I hope you know that. So let me start.”

Ed offers his arm but Oswald makes no move to take it.

“Please,” he pleads, desperation beginning to colour his tone. “I’m not above getting on my knees if it’s for you.”

And isn’t that a thought.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Oswald gasps, his voice cracking at the images that fly through his head like a particularly graphic flip-book. Ed grins widely, cheekily, as if he knows exactly what Oswald’s thinking. He never could resist that smile.

Oswald hesitates before gently slipping his hand through the crook of his elbow. His heart beats violently in his chest as he looks Ed over in disbelief, fingers grasping the green fabric almost as if, even after all these years, he just can’t quite comprehend he's actually real beneath his touch. Ed colours slightly under the scrutiny and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think I’d get this far, if I’m honest. You’re decidedly stubborn when you want to be.”

“Well I think you underestimate how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Oswald admits.

“Sentimental old fool,” Ed replies fondly and gently pats his knuckles, thumb sweeping across them in a barely-there caress as he pulls away.

“Guilty,” Oswald chirps giddily.

“What about those two?” Ed asks, directing a thumb over one shoulder at the two guards still tied up and watching them warily.

Oswald hums under his breath and taps his fingertips against his lips lightly in thought. “Like I said, I’m feeling generous today. I’ll just let the GCPD pick them up. I’m sure our old friend Jim Gordon will look after them.”

Together they slowly make their way out of the jewellers, expensive brogues crunching against the shattered glass littering the ground.

“Careful of the step,” Ed advises softly, gently guiding Oswald into the sharp night air. There’s only one car left once they get outside and Oswald’s driver is waiting patiently for him against its hood, a cigarette glinting in the dark as it dangles from his bottom lip. He flicks it away when he hears them approach, hand automatically going for his gun before relaxing once again.

“We’re…” Oswald awkwardly trails off and looks up at Ed, unsure how to proceed. Unsure exactly what’s even happening.

“Hatchet Drive, on 24th Street, you know it?” Ed directs to the driver. The man cocks his head slightly to the side and scrunches up his nose in thought.

“Just past the old brewery?” He asks.

Ed exhales in relief, his breath visible against the blanket of darkness around them. “Yes, exactly.”

“Yeah, I know it,” he answers with a shrug.

“Good. Drop us off there.”

The driver looks to Oswald for confirmation and he gives one brief, confused nod. 

Ed opens the car door for Oswald, slipping in after him. He rests his cane against the back of the driver’s seat and pulls off his bowler hat. His short hair is damp at the ends with sweat and Ed runs his fingers through it, separating the strands and ruffling it up at the back. Finally, he peels off the purple domino mask and slips it into an inner pocket of his blazer. There are a few more crow’s feet at the corner of Ed’s eyes since the last time Oswald saw him like this and if it was day time he’s sure he’d be able to spot the odd grey hair or two dotted at his temples, as well. Oswald’s distantly glad for insisting on partitions in all of his cars. 

“When I said you need to take better care of yourself, that wasn’t what I really meant. Or, at least, that’s not _all_ I meant.”

Oswald readies himself. He always knew Ed would be his downfall, in whatever capacity that happened to be. Right now, in this moment, he thinks he’s finally prepared for it. He still can’t even bring himself to hate the man. Not when he’s gifted him with this unexpected but so utterly welcome brief moment of happiness, of relief.

“What I wanted to say was, well, you need to let someone take care of you,” he continues. “Or rather, you _deserve_ to have someone take care of you. Me. That is, err, let me take care of you. Please,” he starts to fumble over words, stuttering. “Oh, dear.”

Oswald holds up a shaking hand and laughs wetly. “I get it, Ed,” he finally replies, hope causing a small, wobbly smile to blossom across his face. “Okay.”

Ed blinks widely and Oswald has to look away again for fear of diving desperately into his arms and never letting go. “Okay?”

“Yes. Of course, you silly man,” he directs to the window instead, voice soft.

Ed rests his hand over Oswald’s bad knee, the heat from his palm seeping through his tailored trousers to warm the twisted, aching joint and suddenly he’s 31 again and utterly, ridiculously in love.

“Thank you,” Ed breathes.

But then again, he never really stopped, did he? Being in love, that is. Being in love with Ed.


End file.
